Leaves for the Raking
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
Chapter 3
Monday morning arrived and the tractor crew approached the spot to retrieve the truck, but found it missing. The crewmen were mystified, and wondered if Ed had directed them to the wrong thaw hole. The load of stone was there but no truck. There was no other equipment in the county that could have retrieved it. They sent one man back to the office to check with Ed. When Ed arrived to assess the situation, he noted a little depression in the mud in front of the load of stone. He got a probe bar from the truck, and plunged it into the stone. He felt the bar hit something, but then continued deeper. A little digging by the men at that spot, found their shovels hitting the top of the truck cab. Ed was the best poker player in the highway department and knew when to fold. He ordered another load of heavy stone dumped on top of the cab and let it stay. It was this little episode, which led to the new policy of sending the oldest trucks to the worst places. Some newcomers might think this story nothing but a rural legend. The experience of old-timers, however, leads many of them to believe the story has credibility. What better reason for such a strange truck policy? The story would seem to end there, but there is more. Chapter 4
. . . After about five minutes of inattention, the cat will cut the idle, and then leap from my lap to find a more responsive victim. My lap is now full of enough cat hairs to stuff a pillow. That’s why they leave their motor running. The vibration shakes loose all the about-to-fallout hairs. I am not grateful for the gift, but remain silent, not wanting to offend my host. Chapter 1
Dad already had a jug of hot water under the covers of my bed in my unheated bedroom. I pushed the jug to the bottom as I crawled in to warm my feet and soon was asleep. When I came down for breakfast the next morning, the temperature was ten below zero. Dad had the kitchen stove topped with a pan of hot cereal and a steaming teakettle of water. After a warm breakfast I prepared myself to brave the cold and do my morning chore with our cow. As I was about to put on my coat and jacket, Dad said, "Son, I’ve already milked the cow." I could have hugged him for that, but in those days teenage sons did not hug their dads. I didn’t, and I have regretted it ever since. Chapter 2
I could not help but notice the black leather hot pants she was wearing. The leather suspenders compressed her red blouse, straining the last secured button of a row in which many already seemed too loose, especially for January. There were two wine glasses on the coffee table, one unfilled. Would I like a glass of wine to take off the chill? I declined the wine, saying the fire was doing the job nicely. Her attire had something to do with my increasing warmth, though I tried my best to disguise it.
Story, Truck Policy
Story, About Cats and Dogs
Story, Thanksgiving ‘35
Story, Builder’s Risk
Formats
Book Details
About the Book
The front cover shows the author in resting mode during the annual ritual of leaf raking on his Brown County, Indiana homestead. In this book he rakes together some of the leaves of his imagination, which have fallen over the years onto the printed page. His winter season is near at hand, and he wishes to gather the leaves before the first killing frost, lest the winter winds blow them beyond his last effort of recall.
Like the raked leaves of autumn, this book is a gathering of parts. It is part autobiography, part history, some true stories, and some with exaggerations. There are moments of marginal wit, country observations, and a little poetry added for seasoning.
The author has stacked these random parts into chapters for the holding, much the way he stacks his firewood between two trees to be seasoned for next year's burning. The reader can take a stick of wood from the pile, throw it on the fire, and then read the smoke to find the meaning.
If the smoke is properly read, the author hopes the reader may also be warmed in the process. He also hopes the contents of the chapters have been properly seasoned and are ready for consumption.
About the Author
The author, a lifetime pacifist, served four years during World War II in camps for conscientious objectors, fighting forest fires in western states. Conscientious objectors received no compensation for the work they performed.
His boyhood was spent on a small farm in middle Indiana. His parents and ancestors were of Quaker heritage. His home was within sight of the Quaker meeting house, which he attended.
The first chapter of his book reflects how this environment and the Great Depression shaped his life.
The remaining chapters follow a move, with his wife, to Brown County, Indiana in l947. They used all of their $600 savings to purchase forty acres of woods and pasture with a stream running though it.
They chose the place where they wanted to live. How to make a living was a secondary consideration. They took that uncertainty as a dare. Fifty-six years and five daughters later, they believe it was a dare worth taking.
He found he had a gift for designing and building homes and; fifty-three are still standing at the time of his retirement.
Brown County is a mix of factors, which make it unique. Its small population, 16,000, and only one incorporated village, make it an essentially rural community. It is also a bedroom community with half the workforce commuting to jobs outside the county.
Brown County state park and national forests, comprising half the county, attract several million tourists each year. Brown County residents live in a time zone all their own. Somewhere in the county’s past history a time-slippage factor occurred. It has never fully recovered.
It is from this mix of ingredients that the author finds his stories and observations. Someone has quoted him as having said, “It’s a great place to live if you can stand it.”